Page 19 of Our Song

‘Well, we played it together when we were in the band,’ I say, ‘but I wrote it.’

I don’t look at Tadhg as I say it.

‘Ms McDermott—’ says Tara.

Oh, it’s Ms McDermott now, is it?

‘I wrote the chords,’ I say.‘And I wrote the melody.And the words.’

‘Do you have any proof of that?’says Tara.

I knew that’s what all this was about.I fuckingknewit.But I feel like I’ve been kicked in the stomach, all the same.

‘Tara,’ says Tadhg.‘Do you mind if I talk to Laura alone, just for a minute?’

‘Sure,’ says Tara.

She slips out of the booth and takes a seat at the bar.I look over and see her fiddling with her phone, but she keeps glancing over at us.Probably worried I’m going to leap over the table and attack Tadhg for trying to steal my song.Well, she needn’t worry – if I wanted to attack him I’d have to wriggle out of this banquette first and that would take about ten minutes so he’d have plenty of time to make his escape.

‘I’m sorry about that,’ says Tadhg.He takes off his glasses and rubs his eyes.‘Tara’s brilliant at her job and she’s really sound, but as far as she’s concerned this is just another business meeting.I’m not sure she gets how … well, how close we were.’

Oh.I didn’t realise I needed to hear him acknowledge this.But it turns out I did.

‘Well,’ I say faintly.‘That was a long time ago.’

‘Yeah,’ he says.There’s a moment of silence, but somehow it’s not as awkward now.Tadhg clears his throat.‘The reasonI wanted to see you is because a few weeks ago I found myself playing that song and remembering how good it was.I want to finally finish it with you.Together.As co-writers.’

I don’t say anything.I did not expect this.

‘It’s a really good song,’ he says.

‘I know.’

‘And it’ll be better if it’s finished,’ he says earnestly.‘I think we could make something great out of this, Lol.We were so good together.’

My eyes meet his and my breath stops.

‘We were good together sometimes.’I take a sip of water.

‘We were good together alotof the time,’ he says.The banquette suddenly seems small.I could reach my hand across the table to touch his, if I wanted to.If I dared.I can still remember what it felt like to hold those hands.

I pull myself together.I should tell him that he’s thinking of another Laura.I should tell him that until this week I hadn’t played my guitar in almost a year.I should tell him that the Laura he knew – the Laura who didn’t write ads for pensions, the Laura who wrote songs and made people stare at her in awe when she played them on stage – doesn’t exist anymore.

I should tell him all this.I know I should.

But when was I ever totally honest with Tadhg?

I say, ‘How exactly do you want to do this?’

Tadhg looks relieved, as if he half-expected me to walk out before he could make his case.Then the waiter arrives with our starters.

‘Let’s talk about it in a minute,’ he says, waving at Tara to join us.

The food is delicious.Between mouthfuls, Tadhg says, ‘So, are you still working in advertising?’

‘How did you know I worked in advertising?’I try not to sound as taken aback as I feel, but his expression suggests I’ve failed.

‘Um, through Brian,’ he says.‘Sorry, is it weird that I know?I just asked how you were doing and he told me.’

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